12: You're as Cold as Ice

☆ Evan ☆

"Hello, you have reached Adrian McKenna. If you are calling for a work matter, please leave your cellphone number and the relevant extension after the beep. If you are a telemarketer, the government, or Nina Isaac, never call this number again. As far as you are concerned, I do not exist."

I mouth the words along with my father's voicemail message, listening to it for the third time in fourteen minutes. I wait for a while between each phone call, but it has the same outcome every time.

Pressing the end button with my finger, I don't bother leaving a message. As soon as the screen fades, Elaine's playlist resumes on my headphones; some far-too-peppy Ellie Goulding song. I have six minutes and eleven seconds before Claire is supposed to come and pick me up, which I don't remember agreeing to, and so I should really get dressed at some point in the next eternity.

I sigh, trudging to the bathroom to brush my teeth. By this point, dad is probably off gallivanting in Alberta, living a good life and doing whatever the fuck he does that keeps him occupied and permanently unable to call me back in a timely manner.

As far as you are concerned, I do not exist.

I finish getting ready and as I'm about to toss on a sweater, Carolyn's voice yells from the kitchen. "Evan!"

"Coming. I've got the door!" I tug my earbuds out and dash to the living room. Letting Claire inside my apartment is already a stupid decision, and I intend to keep her from talking with my mother about any topic of substance for as long as I can.

I slide past Carolyn, my hands fumbling with the lock. I open the door in time to see Claire walking through the hall, and when she spots me, she grins. The lopsided smile on her face increases as she gets closer. She reaches to fix a piece of my hair that has rebelled against me by curling to the wrong side. "Did you just wake up?"

"Guilty as charged," I reply.

I crack the door open, inviting Claire inside. She scans the kitchen area as if searching for a flaw. Her cheeks are flushed a bright shade of salmon pink. "I like your place. It's quaint." But her tone is taut, and it gives her away.

"Do you live in the area?" Carolyn asks. Barely an inch taller than Claire, but somehow her presence overtakes her, and it makes me shudder. "You drive a Mercedes."

"I'm closer to the downtown area," Claire replies, which is putting it mildly. Her house is smack dab in the middle of the downtown area, overlooking the ocean.

"I see. Well, have fun." Carolyn watches as I recede closer to the door, my hand on the knob. "And, Evan?"

So close. So very close. "Yes, mom?"

Her eyes bore into mine, the smile she puts on shining like a warning sign. It's a veneer, and I know that, but it's far too convincing. "Be back before eleven. I worry for you if you stay out too late."

"Sure," I say and pull the door shut behind me.  Once outside, I stick my hands in my pockets and trudge down the hallway.

"If I'd known I was seeing your mother again, I would have brought her something," Claire says from behind me. "She's so sweet. How about cookies? Do you think bringing some would help your sister like me?"

"Probably. She's out right now, though. She would have come to see you otherwise."

"Oh, that explains it. Where?"

I shrug, reaching the front door. The outside sky is cerulean, save for the slight, cloudy haze that rises off the water. The rays of sunlight touching my skin have warmth left in them. "I don't know, some friend who threw a birthday party and invited the whole grade."

Also, an excuse to get her out of the house.

"I miss those middle school parties." Claire climbs into the driver's seat. Her car is new, a birthday present from her parents. Its inner seats are cherry red, the steering wheel a slick black. It has a map big enough that it may as well be a phone clipped to the dashboard. The seats actually recline more than an inch without sticking, and the damn thing has some kind of automatic parking system. (And so on, and so forth.)

Hooked to the rearview mirror is a tiny plush key chain in the shape of an elephant, her favourite animal. Back when we met, it used to smell like cotton candy. And it always reminds me of the stupid way we started talking; I spotted the key chain and brought up a fact I knew to impress her. It was about elephants burying their tusks with sticks and how they know how to grieve, which she thought was a bit sad, but somehow it worked out.

"I'm sure you got invited to quite a few," I say.

She shrugs, starting the car. Elaine's playlist kicks off from the beginning. I slowly move to turn the sound down.

Reaching the end of my street, she asks, "Have you thought about where we're going?"

"I honestly don't care, as long as it's away from here. The waterfront?"

"Evan, the water is bound to be freezing cold. Do you want to get hypothermia, or what?"

I stare blankly out the window. The forest glides past me, fading to a green blur. I wish I could get away from this town; I wish I was leaving here today.

Two hundred and seventy-eight days. I check the time on my phone, mentally calculating the hours I have left. At this point, I can do it fairly quickly. Two hours, fifty-five minutes, and thirty-eight seconds.

"It might not be that cold," I reply. "I don't know about you, but I think we should do it. You don't have to swim if you don't want to, Cee."

She gives me a sigh in response. It's the universal Evan-is-crazy noise, and I don't even bother arguing with that. "Okay," she mumbles. "Fine. Whatever."

I wait for her to ask me what's wrong with me, but it never comes. She simply takes the next right turn to the main road that leads to Northwood's downtown area.

I run a hand through my hair. In the background, the synthetic beat thuds against the stereo. Unlike my car, she could drown me out with her music system if she tried.

"What happened with Jenny?" Claire asks, interrupting my focus on the music.

I break out of my reverie to grit my teeth. Jenny has been nothing but a pain in the backside since I've known her, and this time she took it a step too far. "She was being a total bitch."

"Evan!" Her tone is sharp like a dagger, and she turns her head to narrow her eyes at me for a split second. "Don't say that about her. I know she can be flighty, and sometimes a little... I don't know. But she isn't a bitch."

"Jesus, Cee, you weren't there to see her freak out. She said—she brought up the whole party thing again in front of that guy... you know, the tall one. Delacroix."

"Who?" Claire pauses for a second to think, then says, "Oh! What in God's name was he doing at a soccer game? I thought by now that whole thing would have blown over. And, I mean, that's none of your business either."

"I guess not," I admit. Even Peter himself seems to want me to cut it out, like forgetting about it will make it quietly go away. "It's none of Jenny's business either, and she didn't have to say anything. It's not my fault that she couldn't stay quiet and let him watch the game if he wanted to."

"This isn't even about that, is it?" The car comes to a halt at a stoplight. It seems to remain a steady red for an eternity, at which point Claire keeps talking to avoid descending into silence. "This is about you. You don't like Jenny. You have a problem with Sam Fields. You think he doesn't deserve to be team captain."

I would prefer silence, right about now. "My problem with Fields is that he's a jerk, and he shouldn't be team captain just because his father pours money into the school board. It's so fucked up, Cee. There are better players."

Claire's nose scrunches in distaste with me. Her parents—more likely than not—play a part in funding the sports team. It's not meant to be a dig at her, but I can sense I've overstepped a boundary. "If you want to get off the bench, do something about it. Start practicing with the guys, or talk to coach—I don't know! At least try."

"I am trying." I sigh. I showed up at practice, didn't I? Not that it matters. "You don't have to get on me about that. Fucking practice."

I don't think anyone should be saying that about practice. I snort softly to myself, even though the joke isn't that funny.

"You should play at the next soccer game," Claire says. I expected her to change the subject, but then again—when we're talking about school, we avoid talking about us, and I don't want to go there either. "I would be there, and I would pay a cheerleader to come and shout your name for the crowd."

"Please don't. They would never."

On the horizon, the ocean appears from behind the cluster of apartment buildings and houses. A line of stores clouds the waterfront in front of the beach. The sand shines silver under the light, the waves capped with white froth. "You know they would! It would be cute. Here, I'll start—gimme an E!"

I roll my eyes, halfheartedly repeating her. Claire continues undeterred, lifting her hand in the air in an impression of a cheer routine. North High is too small to have a cheerleading team, but she is convincing. "E-V-A-N! And what does it spell?"

"Yeah, yeah."

We arrive at the turnoff to the beach, and the paved road diverts to a strip of loose gravel. Claire slows down, the jittery pavement kicking up particles of dust that make it hard to see through the windshield. Eventually, the road leads her to the parking area. Unsurprisingly, there are only a few other cars around, and by the looks of it, the beach is totally empty.

As I grab my phone from the cup holder, Claire sends me a look. "I'm leaving mine here," she says, pointing to her purse. "I don't know, maybe you should, too. If you want. Enjoy the day."

I check my messages first, just to make sure. But there's nothing there from my dad. No returned phone call. No message. It's total radio silence. I shrug and place it back in the car before shutting the door.

"I didn't bring my bathing suit." Shoving her hand in the pocket of her jeans, Claire loops her free arm with mine. She skips to the waterline, her shoes sinking into the damp sand. The wind carries her hair behind her, occasionally blowing a strand in her face. It's cold, but not unbearable. "This is your weirdest idea yet."

I just smile.

Claire takes her shoes off, discarding them on the ground. Dipping her feet into the water, she wades into it. "Oh, god, it's cold."

"Yeah, what else would it be?" I reply, and she reaches for my wrists to grab me. "Claire, wait, I'm not—"

"You started it." She drags me into the water. A wave crashes on the shore, coming past my ankles and filling my shoes with water. The tang of salt fills the air, the seaweed floating at the bottom with the pebbles.

I take a step forward, and then another. The clear blue of the water reaches my hips, and the ocean floor drops to an incline. Using my feet, I kick off, and swim out a bit further. The sound of the wind gusting and the ocean lapping are the only noises I can hear.

And then I dive underwater. It's peaceful, and I keep my eyes shut for the first five seconds. I know Elaine hates swimming—it reminds her too much of Carolyn's punishments—but for some reason, it doesn't have the same effect on me.

I open my eyes. Claire's murky figure stands over me, her voice distorted beyond recognition. She doesn't look panicked. I'm treading water, the sleeves of my shirt ballooning, and it feels like I could sink into the depths like a rock. It all seems so distant.

I could lose track of time like this.